


The Archon and the Eagle

by AetosForeas



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetosForeas/pseuds/AetosForeas
Summary: The year of the 91st Olympiad has come, and Archon Kyra of Mykonos has a visitor, a misthios from Sparta. Another night under the stars.





	The Archon and the Eagle

“A child?”

“Yes.”

“_You_?”

“Yes.” Kyra’s eyes traced the look of light amusement on the other woman’s face. “I _also_ have a _mater_ and did not grow from an olive tree, in case that needs saying.”

“It’s just…” Kyra rolled over in the bed of furs they’d made use of – _excellent_ use of, she thought – over the course of the evening. The sky was blazing with stars, like the path of milk Hera had left behind when the infant Herakles had been laid at her breast. _Why am I thinking about that? _“I didn’t know you were… I mean, it’s none of my business.”

“I suppose not.” Kassandra’s face was still amused, although there was an edge to her eyes that Kyra couldn’t read. She lay back down, her well-muscled arms sleek and powerful under her head. Kyra found herself nestled into them before she knew she would.

“So, you’re married?”

“No. He… was a very dear friend. It wasn’t a love match.” The long hair, released from the tight braid Kassandra preferred, smelled faintly of sweat and ginger. “Although I did love him for how he treated Elpidios.”

“Is that your son?”

“Yes. Elpidios. My hope for the future.” Kyra and Kassandra had shared much in their brief time together, nearly five years in the past now, a whirlwind few months she’d never forgotten. But she’d never heard the woman sound the way she did in that moment, each breath hitched, each word almost forced out of her. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Maybe you needed to tell someone.”

“Barnabas knows.”

“Ah, how is your shadow?”

“Well. Sad. We buried Herodotus… took him back home, where his parents lie. It seemed the thing to do. I think Barnabus misses the arguments.”

Kyra could hear the encroaching sadness and chose to act, sliding her teeth along Kassandra’s flanks, lightly biting and kissing at the muscles along her ribs. Listened to the sound rumble inside her, like a taut drumhead.

“You can be sad later.” Another playful bite, this one closer to Kassandra’s navel, and a sharp intake of breath from the misthios. “We have hours yet till Helios rises.”

“Brazen little thing.” Kyra could hear a tone of warmth in the voice that had been lacking, a slight tremor in the arms that encircled her. “I’ll keep you to that.”

Kyra had been amazed the first time she and Kassandra had spent the night like this at how gentle the woman was, despite her greater size and strength. How feather-light her fingers could be, despite the callouses on both her hands from years spent scrambling up rock faces. How soft and warm her kisses were, how her breath came out in gasping sobs when Kyra found that spot on the hood of her and exposed it with her teeth, her tongue. She played with her for a while, until the quality of the sounds she made changed, grew plaintive and deeper, almost demanding. The iron muscles of her thighs tensing, trying desperately not to bring them together, wanting desperately to do just that.

When she came her feet pushed down and lifted her, and Kyra clutched to stay in place, her fingers darting in time with her groans. When it was over they lay entangled for a while, the furs now bunched up and even scattered.

*

The sun finally rose and they rose with it.

Kyra’s peplos and himaton had been folded up carefully and stowed, and so she dressed after a quick dip in the Aegean. One of the benefits of this secluded spot, the same spot they’d first made use of during the Delian revolt, was that few people were likely to see them. She dressed leisurely, knowing that her absence from the city would be noticed. Dealing with the Spartans and the Athenians was trying enough at the best of times, and the situation wasn’t good now that the young Alcibiades, nephew of Pericles, had been named _Strategos _and was riling up the Athenians again.

“Hmm.” Kassandra had said when Kyra had mentioned it. “A _Strategos. _You know what? It’s probably a good choice.”

“You know him?”

“In more ways than one.” Kassandra’s armor was a leather and bronze breastplate with a red shawl of some kind Kyra didn’t recognize over the shoulders. She sometimes wore a large Korinthian helm with a large red plume and the stylings of a wolf, but today she hadn’t worn any such thing, instead using a red hood that matched the shawl. She had a sword, a _kopis_ with a curved blade and it had taken Kyra a few minutes to realize what she was missing.

“What happened to that broken spear you used to carry?”

“I didn’t need it anymore.” Another smile as she stood, arms braced on her hips, and inhaled the sea air. She’d braided her hair again, as lustrous and brown as it had been the day they’d met – Kyra’s own hair was beginning to grey at the temples. “I left it with Herodotus.”

The two of them walked arm in arm to the harbor, where Kassandra’s ship waited for her.

“So, _Archon_.” Kassandra said it gently but with a trace of mockery that would have irritated Kyra had it been anyone else. “Ready to abandon your responsibilities and sail with me?”

“_Or_ you could settle here. I could use a general who could find her ass with both hands.”

“I believe that was _your_ ass I found that way.” They stopped at a stall at the agora, Kyra making sure to smile and greet several shopkeepers as if she was close friends with them all. She wasn’t – even on an island as small as Mykonos, it was impossible to know _everyone_ – but since she’d led the rebellion and taken Podarkes role as Archon she’d learned that the opinion of even one person could change everything. She wouldn’t ever mistake herself for a tyrant. Kassandra seemed even _more_ amused at how everyone wanted to talk to Kyra, ask her questions or offer her opinions on what to do about trade, about the war, about this or that.

“I feel like everything I do makes you laugh.”

“Out of relief, that they swarm you and pay no attention to _me_.” Kassandra bought a pear and bit into it as they walked, the juice dribbling down her chin and throat. Kyra repressed quite a few urges inspired by that trail of juice.

“You eat like a barbarian.”

“I eat like a _Spartan_.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Ask a Spartan, they’d tell you they’re the only civilized people in Hellas.” Her amusement muted down as she stared at the pear. “I haven’t… I send letters, and receive them when I’m in port. Usually Keos. I know _Mater_ would like it if I were home more, but… it hasn’t felt like home. Maybe no place but the _Adrestia_ will ever feel like home now.”

“If this is prying…”

“Then pry. I’ve asked enough of you, if you want to know something ask.”

“You mentioned your son, but not where he is. Is he with your _mater_ in Sparta?”

“No.” She shook her head. “She offered, but…” Kassandra closed her eyes, and Kyra was fairly sure that she was holding back tears. “Those that killed his father… you remember when I told you about Podarkes? What he was part of?”

Kyra nodded. It had been one of the things they’d bonded over, nearly a decade gone. Podarkes, and what he’d taken from each of them.

“Of course.”

“There are others. Persians. They…” She took a deep breath as if the smell of the sea calmed her, and Kyra could see every muscle on her arms and legs was corded with effort. Kyra was herself proficient with a blade or a bow, she was neither proud nor ashamed of it – she could hunt for food or put down a man who needed it. But Kassandra made her feel like a child sometimes, the way she was made for it. _Athena in a dirty disguise_, as she’d called Kassandra on their meeting. Looking at her now she half believed it. “They killed Elpidios’ father, sought to kill me too. Anyone in my family, anyone with my blood, they hunt us. So now, I hunt them. And Elpidios… well, he’s safe. Somewhere they’ll never look for him. But _Mater_… her blood is my blood, and sending her to him, or him to her, that would be dangerous.”

“Is that why you came to Mykonos? Hunting these Persians that hunt you?”

“Returning from. There were some on Chios and Samos, and I found them. I thought of you when I sailed there, and…” She shrugged, trying to fight off the gloom. “And here you are, Archon for your people.”

Kyra narrowed her eyes at that. There was a tone there, one she recognized from her own musings. She remembered the last night she’d seen Kassandra, the party, her followers and people drinking and laughing, a nearly perfect moment. There was one thing wrong in her memory, a question she’d always ached to ask but never had. Still, before she could, she had another topic.

“These Persians. Tell me of them?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Persia is right there, misthios.” Kyra pointed out over the island. “We are nearly as close to Sardis as we are to Athens, and none of us have forgotten Darius and Xerxes washing over the islands on their way to burn _Hellas_. Even if the Athenians have proven themselves little better. If the Persians are a threat…”

“They call themselves the Order of the Ancients. Persia is theirs – there are many good Persians, men and women I’ve known, even loved in my way. But Persia itself, the state, is rotten with them. Worse than the Cult. So many of them, hidden in so many places and positions. The work of a lifetime ten times over to uproot them.”

“So of course you’ve decided to do it yourself.”

“Who else?” They both laughed and Kassandra surprised Kyra by reaching out, clasping a hand. “I find I have the time.”

“I’m sorry about your son.”

“Thank you.” They walked the rest of the way to the boat in silence, Kyra stealing glances as they did. There were a few new scars – a rather nasty one on her arm, below the three slashes she remembered from their last time together, and a wound on her neck – but for all that, Kassandra was ageless and strong and sleek and indeed, as beautiful as any marble of a goddess.

When they reached the boat Kassandra pressed a last kiss into her cheek, sighed so softly Kyra felt more than heard it.

“I meant what I said. You could stay.”

“No.” Ikaros screeched from the air as he descended and Kassandra held out an arm for him, let him land. “Staying in one place, or with one person, just invites disaster and death. I’ve learned that one too well.” Her deft fingers scratched at the bird’s neck. “Besides, Ikaros is a jealous one.”

“Afraid I’ll steal too much of your time?”

“Time, attention, tasty bits… too risky, can’t chance it.” The smile was light and a lie and both of them knew it and neither spoke. Instead, Kyra brushed her lips across the cheek of the woman who’d come into her life and changed her from a ragged rebel hiding and drinking in a cave to the Archon of Mykonos, then came in to capture her lips for just a moment. She could still taste the pear she’d eaten along the way, could feel the breath from her nostrils warm on her face, smell the ginger and lily scent of her hair.

“Be well, Kassandra of House Agiad. I will be here, if you pass by again.”

“Farewell, _Archon_.” Again that smile, and then Kassandra leapt up onto her ship and began barking orders. Kyra took the time and watched them pull away from the dock, watched the eagle leap up into the air and circle the ship as it left.

Kassandra didn’t watch Mykonos grow smaller. She hated looking back – too much pain, too many dead or lost in her wake. Herodotus, Brasidas, Natakas, of course dear Phoibe – it was hard enough with Elpidios gone somewhere she’d never see him, for if any man could evade her Darius was that man, even if she grew selfish enough to risk her son’s life just to see him. The last argument with Myrrine on that score had driven her out of Sparta for over a year.

“So where to now, Captain?” Barnabas spoke up from the rail next to her. “We could have stayed longer, if you wished.”

“I stayed long enough to be seen and for word to spread I was there.”

“It would take them…”

“Unless they already have someone there.” She shook her head. “Besides, I hate lying to people I love, and I can never stop lying to Kyra. You know why.” He nodded his head. Only Barnabas and Herodotus knew what had happened on the beach the night they’d left Mykonos after the rebellion – how Thaletas, the Spartan Polemarch who’d come to aid Kyra and fallen in love with her had attacked Kassandra over Kyra and who should get to have her. Kassandra had been forced to kill him, and had never told Kyra, not wanting her to know how little Thaletas thought of her.

He’d thought that she was property to be won in a fight.

_If you think you own someone you’ve already lost them._ She shook her head, remembering the way Thaletas had died, a strong fighter and a decent Polemarch, he might have made a good general. He was no Brasidas, but ah, so few men were Brasidas. That had been Natakas’ crime, ultimately, not being Brasidas. And now they were both dead and she’d never see either of them again.

She realized Barabas was still waiting on a course.

“South.” She looked out over the water. “Crete. I haven’t been to Crete in a while. Let them follow us there.”


End file.
